Fallout 3: Sam and The Lone Wanderer
by ExclamationMan
Summary: The story of The Lone Wanderer told mostly through the eyes of a slave, Sam.


"...sh this button here, and it should be recording. At least if I actually managed to fix this thing. Now how do I get it to play? Could be any of these buttons, only one way to find out. I sure hope th..."

"Well, I had my first working recording today, didn't even take too long, the recorder was in excellent shape, some cleaning, replaced a few wires and it was up and running. Not exactly riveting entertainment, like those radio dramas GNR played back when it was more than just static. I wonder what happened to it, the only other radio station that worked was those Enclave presidential recordings. Blech, how old are those things, there hasn't been a president or a country for him to run since long before I was born. If there ever was such a thing, The Lone Wanderer could just be, how does TLW put it, 'yanking my chain'. I have no reason to trust that meatsack. Look at me trying to sound all raider. Still TLW has no reason to lie and it explains where all this tech came from." There is a pause. "Now what was I talking about, oh yeah, well this entry didn't turn out much better than the first. What was that? TLW can't be back already, I haven't even started on the .32 yet. Gotta go."

Some time ago.

A person is sleeping on the bottom half of a bunk bed, barely discernable through the darkness. Shafts of a crescent moon stream through the holes in the makeshift, sheet metal roof. The structure is little more than a glorified shed, but to it's inhabitants, it's the closest thing to home. A shelter from the sun in the scorching heat, and a dry, well mostly dry, place in the rain. The biggest selling factor is, of course, the safety.

Part of this safety comes from the numerous other huts and houses providing safety in numbers, as they say. The buildings all reside inside of a large crater many on seemingly rickety, but surprisingly sturdy metal supports. Metal, all metal, most coming from pieces of old airplanes that had been gutted. The most impressive of all this was the thirty foot sheet metal walls that surrounded the entire town. A gigantic door provided the only way in or out. All this made the residents feel secure, the giant walls keeping out all manner of riff raff.

There was plenty that could be qualified as riff raff in the capital wasteland, though calling it riff raff would really be an understatement, for they would all kill you given half a chance. Many also looked at the walls as a mere obstacle to getting what they wanted. Raiders were constantly trying to break in and steal some precious life giving water, their water, or perhaps they wished to overtake the whole town.

Super mutant attacks were rare in this area, which was cause for thanks, they were savage, monstrous, creatures, surely they were no longer human, though they had started out that way.

Then there was always a raid by slavers.

That was just the human or humanoid threats that lay outside the relative safety of the town walls, never mind the various animals. Life was good for the residents of Megaton, at least as long as the nuclear warhead that lay at the center of the crater, which gave the town it's name, never did what it was always intended for and reduced the flimsy metal walls, and flimsier people to nothing but a much larger crater, oh and don't forget the mushroom cloud, definitely can't forget that.

This is where the sleeping figure lay, not realizing the danger that was currently, silently closing the door behind them. That task completed they crept up to the bed of the sleeping figure, raised a large almost square weapon, pointed it at the sleeping figure's head, rechecked their shot, then pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened, had the weapon misfired, was the sleeping figure saved by some technical misfortune. Perhaps not, the stealthy offender pulled a circular object out of a bag they were carrying, popped, that's popped not pooped, it open then put it around the sleeping figure's neck. It closed with a sinister, barely audible click. This was still too loud for the stealthy invader, who froze and listened intently for several seconds. Satisfied no one had heard the noise, they leaned over the no longer sleeping figure.

"Come with me." The stealthy violator spoke in a urgent, commanding whisper.

"Okay," the formerly sleeping now drunk sounding figure spoke, well drunkenly, almost cheerily. 'Jeez, look at that sentence, it's like... hold on I'm getting a call. Hello, ok, yes I understand but..., fine" click "apparently the Chinese want their Lee's back.'

The two people walked out of the shed, down some steps, and up a ramp out of town, one leading the other to keep the stumbling figure from falling to the ground, or over a railing.

After they had passed some distance from Megaton's doors, Stealthy dropped the act.

"Give me everything you got."

The former sleeping now drunkenly wavering figure just stood there, mouth slightly open and emptied their pockets.

"Let's see thirteen caps, and some radscorpion meat, what saving it for a midnight snack?" No longer stealthy mugger mocked. "Keep the food, you are gonna need it for the trek. Not a great haul, but it's to be expected, besides you're worth twenty times this."

The robbed drunk just giggled, while some saliva that had been collecting in their mouth finally pooled to overflowing.

"Boy the mesmetron really scrambled your eggs, still better than some, cranial eruption is something to behold, but it don't get me paid, besides I really wanted you as my own."

Giggler proved their name apt, as another fit erupted from their larynx, this time though some spit erupted with it, though most of it flowed out of their mouth, like lava from a long awaiting volcana, she's a female volcano. One large chunk spewed forth and landed on the mocking, merciless, mugger's mouth. 'Today's saliva volcana brought to you by the letter M.' The Alliteration wiped their mouth and spit out several times.

"Fuck you too," not appreciating the karmic balance the slaver pulled out a bottle of water, took a sip, rinsed out their mouth, then ejected the liquid in a stream which mostly landed on still oblivious' left shoe. "Now where is the on switch for the higher functioning part of your brain."

The slaver pushed their slave around giving them some shakes to snap them out of their stupor. It was met with the never ending smile, and seemingly bottomless pool of still dripping saliva.

"Grrr, now what was it that Grouse suggested for situations like this? Oh yeah." An arm was lifted a foot from drool face's, face. A short but still hard slap echoed through the empty night air. It had it's desired effect as drool face started to come around and some undesired ones as all that drool had to go somewhere.

"What is going on?" Now only half drunk questioned, still dazed and confused.

"You're a slave now, you're coming with me to paradise falls." The slaver informed.

"A slave? I don't remember being a slave."

"To prevent you from getting any ideas of escaping, you now have a lovely new accessory," the slaver reached up and rapped a knuckle on the metal collar, "try to tamper with it and the small explosive charge will permanently remove your head from your body."

That got the attention of the prisoner.

"It also sends a signal to Paradise Falls, so they can track you down if need be, plus I have this." The slaver raised a detonator in their right hand and threatened. "If for whatever reason I feel the need, this is the needle to pop your balloon."

The collared one just glared back, even in the moonlight, anger was clearly present on their face. There was also a touch of fear, but it was all but drowned out in the seething sea of anger. Probably doesn't understand their predicament, the slaver thought.

The slave raised a hand to their face, past the newly acquired collar and rubbed their left cheek. "That hurt."

The slaver merely laughed at the confession. "First of many I'm sure, may I suggest a new demeanour if you wish to avoid slaps to the face in the future, or worse."

The slaver gave the slave a push and the tone dropped from friendly and advice-giving, instead settling on commanding but pleasant. "Let's go."


End file.
